


buoyancy

by sweetdanger



Category: TWICE (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetdanger/pseuds/sweetdanger
Relationships: Hirai Momo/Minatozaki Sana
Comments: 23
Kudos: 87





	buoyancy

_i’ll say it’s stupid. you’ll catch me crying._

Some days are worse than the others.

Sana turns the knob, groaning while removing her heels. She walks directly to the bedroom, dirty work clothes be damned, then plops lazily on the mattress.

“Hi.” Momo opens her arms like clockwork, like it’s the only thing she can do, like she’s supposed to be there, waiting. Sana can’t help but sigh heavily as she lies on her lap. “How was work?”

_Wonderful,_ she could have said. _I talked about you a lot, indirectly, in front of the whole class. My students must have noticed how--_

She hugs Momo's thigh tighter, can barely hear her asking what she ate for lunch. It’s Friday tonight, Saturday tomorrow. They can talk later.

“Tired?” Momo leaves a kiss on her forehead. It soothes everything. Only now did she realize that her body was tense the whole time she was out. She didn’t even notice. “I’m sorry.”

_What for?_ But Sana only hums, eyes closed, and one breath away from falling asleep.

“You left the light on,” Momo reminds her. She nudges the poor thing on her lap, then pauses when she sees her chest going up and down--calmly, rhythmically--as if she hasn’t slept for weeks. “I missed you too.”

  
  
  


Mina, her best friend and co-worker, once said that she didn’t really have to come in on Thursdays. And she takes Mina’s list of advice to heart. Plus, she doesn't have classes anyway, so she spends this free time doing everything else--going to the park, to the library, to the grocery, to her favorite restaurant.

“I will never get sick of this place,” Momo sighs contentedly. She closes her eyes for the effect and slides even more in her seat. “This is so, so good.”

Her feet went up and down, giddy and flipping like a toddler’s. Sana would spend the whole afternoon watching the scene, sipping wine, and listening to the way Momo’s words slowly but surely slur. It's always the same.

“And then we went to this mountain,” Momo tells animatedly, using her arms to gesture how big the mountain was. “It was huge. I bet giants lived there. My dad showed me these little pearls,” she adds while trying to gulp down the steak, “They were shining and bright and they hurt my eyes. I still have them at home. And they were--it was so...”

There’s a pause, like the TV suddenly broke, the movie interrupted. Sana nods, waiting for Momo to continue, waiting for the rest of the story. But Momo only smiles fondly, flawed and beautiful, and with sauce on the corner of her mouth. Sana’s eyes begin to water. She wants to say so much, wants to tell so much, but Momo talks first, “It was so pretty, Sa-tang.” She forks her last piece of steak, munches until it’s gone. “I wish you were there. I had this huge fascination with shiny things.”

_I’m sorry,_ Sana would have said with a trying smile, if only she wasn’t so tired that day. _I wish I was, too._

Momo reaches for her hand, scrunching her nose cutely, and letting their rings meet. She does a little happy dance after finishing her meal.

  
  
  


The simple science is this--however weak or strong the force placed on a body submerged in water, it is equal to the weight of the water that the body would displace.

So when Sana opens her eyes and sees Momo taking off her shirt, she sits up on the tub and makes space. She waits for it to get filled up to the brim, for the water to overflow, and finally, for Momo’s warmth to embrace her. The last one comes first. The rest, impossible.

“You work the hardest on Mondays,” Momo says as she massages Sana’s scalp. Her chest meets Sana’s back, and it’s enough to melt them both. “Why?”

Sana sighs. “Mondays are bad days.”

She sinks further, letting the water reach her chin. She can feel Momo breathing behind her; fingers in her hair, lips on her ear. It beats all the logic that science is still trying to achieve.

“Why?”

“Momoring,” she answers, words almost drowned out by the water, “how many were the good Mondays?”

Momo moves her hands, putting them on Sana’s shoulders, easing her exhausted muscles. Easing everything that the week already brought, would bring forth.

“I’m sorry,” she says in a whisper, though Sana hears it loudly; feels the shape of her lips on the curve and lobe of her ear, Momo’s mouth taking the form of each and every word, “I should have kept count.”

“It’s okay,” Sana sobs, grabbing on the sides of the tub, catching her breath that has quickly turned shallow and ragged. “It’s stupid.”

Momo’s hands are so warm, while the water runs cold and the bathroom floor remains dry.

  
  
  


“On Wednesdays, I wear pink.” She fixes her hair while looking at the mirror, sees Momo’s reflection eyeing her up and down. She turns and makes a show of her fit. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Momo gulps loud enough for Sana to hear. “God put me on the MILF cloud.”

Sana rolls her eyes, smirks at the genius, unfunny comment, and walks towards her in a really, really slow manner. She’s in the highest heels Momo has ever seen. She felt her brain short-circuit, malfunctioning even worse than when Sana finally did her lipstick.

Sana is straddling her, making the dress go higher. She could feel Sana’s goosebumps under her fingertips. It’s immaculate.

“I want to kiss you so much,” Sana whispers just above her lips, fingers playing with the little strands of hair on Momo’s nape. She moves a little, which couldn’t even be considered a grind, but Momo almost moans from the action being too much. She is simply going haywire as of the moment. “But my lipstick would be ruined. It would be nice if you could come so you could wear your favorite shade, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Momo manages to say, though it came out like a squeak. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

Sana kissed her deeply then, with so much want that she almost begged her not to leave, with so much need that she almost begged her to stay--

Sana wants to feel that again; the need to never leave, to stay, to re-apply her lipstick.

  
  
  
  


It’s 10. She knows the exact time only because Momo kept saying it, like an alarm that was set-- _Sa-tang! Wake up! It’s 10 AM! We’re in trouble! Up, up!_ \--and she only knows that she’s awake now because she’s being peppered with kisses. She can’t complain, but she is.

She covers her face with a pillow, buries herself further in the sheets.

“Oh, come on.” Momo’s voice is lilting, like she’s smiling, though Sana can’t see. Sana isn’t entirely sure. But it would be nice if she is--if Momo really is smiling right now. Her senses come back to her one by one. “Don’t whine, Sa-tang. Get up and cook breakfast.”

“Cook your own,” she complains. She peeks from the blanket; sees the closed curtains first, their barely surviving room plants, her phone on the nightstand, some shiny things, the ring--which, if she’s being honest, beats the sunrise with how much it glares, it almost makes her head hurt--and then, there’s Momo. Smiling. Sana wants to complain. She really does. “Get yourself some cereals. Did you really have to wake me up?”

“I’m sorry.” Momo pouts. Sana sees her even if her own head is under the pillows. “But you shouldn’t skip breakfast. I’d text Nayeon to come over and help me cook but it’s a Saturday and--”

“And Saturdays are ours, I know,” Sana catches up slowly. She gets up, rubbing her eyes, cheeks lined with deep sleep. Momo kisses her nose, wishing for her to continue. Just for them to remember. “No outside world on our days.”

“Our days,” Momo repeats. She stands up, hands extending towards the girl, and silently asking for her to take them. “Come with me?”

_Anywhere,_ Sana thought. _Anywhere._

“It’s a Saturday,” Momo cheers. It sounds peaceful and nice, warm and soft, and she doesn’t need any more than this, really. “Sana and Momo and nothing else.”

_Anywhere._ She opens her mouth to speak, but Momo giggles first, as if something was suddenly funny. She looks serene, happy, and so, so bright, like a memory, like a movie. Sana forgets what she needed to say. _Just tell me where._

“Why are you laughing?”

She’s laughing now, too. She can’t help it. It feels like it’s what she’s supposed to do. It feels like it’s what she did.

Momo smiles, as wide as she could. She kisses the back of Sana’s hand, turns around, making Sana hug her from behind as they waddle together towards their destination.

“Where are we going?”

Sana kisses her shoulder, stays there, feeling Momo’s shirt under her lips. She cooked their breakfast, ordered lunch, didn’t eat dinner, only watched Momo dance around the living room. She didn’t complain, not even about the irony.

“To the kitchen.”

The alarm was left blaring the whole day.

  
  
  
  


“This is, like, an ongoing streak,” Momo shouts from the bedroom as Sana washes her hair. “You being late.”

She doesn’t answer, instead turns up the volume of the speaker. Classes don’t start until 9 AM. It’s 7:55. Her travel time is about 30 minutes, so really, isn’t she even a bit too early--

“You fix your hair for an hour and choose what to wear for another hour. Don’t lie to yourself!”

Sana turns off the shower, pauses the song, steps out of the bathroom, still wet and naked as the day she was born--“Literally no one asked,” she shouts back as she throws a towel straight to Momo’s face.

“I was only stating what I have observed--”

“Well, babe, keep your observations to yourself.”

Momo stands up and walks to her, quiet and apologetic. She uses the towel to dry Sana’s hair, letting her turn and face the mirror. Sana wants it to stop reeling, this one, she wants to make it stop, this one, this is solely hers, this one, this wasn’t theirs--

“See, this is what would make me late,” Sana snickers as Momo wraps her like a burrito and hugs her from behind, putting her chin on Sana’s shoulder. She pouts, then sways their bodies together. “You would make me late.”

It’s the way they fit so perfectly like this that makes Sana want to curl up and cry. Something beneath her chest aches; and it aches so, so bad, breaks very, very loud that she can almost hear it, she does hear it actually, really, really clearly--“I’m sorry,” Momo says truthfully.

Her cheeks are tainted red, which looks awfully out-of-place for some reason, like she was from a different scene. Sana should’ve shut her up with a kiss.

“I just don’t want you driving too fast because you’re running late.”

_Not this one._

“I know you. You think of your students a lot, how they must be waiting for you to show up. So you drive really fast--”

“Shut up,” Sana pleads. _I think of you a lot. I wait for you to show up._ “Shut up.”

“Drive slowly.” Momo makes Sana face her, wipes her cheek, her bottom lip, and looks at her in the eyes. She kisses her forehead as the towel falls on the floor. The next words fade, not hers, “And then come back to me.”

_Drive slowly,_ Sana said in this distant scene. Tuesdays are the worst. _And then come back to me._

  
  
  
  
  
  


Sundays are good.

Nayeon comes, cooks for her, doesn't talk much. Unlike Momo. Momo is very noisy.

“Mina said you didn’t show up on Thursday,” Nayeon says over her shoulder, flipping pancakes on the pan. “She was waiting for you to call.”

Sana sits on the counter and picks on the blueberries. She knits her brows when thinking of a reason to tell Nayeon, but ends up telling the truth. Sundays are the best, and it’s only because she has her. They have each other.

“I don’t have classes on Thursdays, remember?” Sana pops another blueberry in her mouth. “Your girlfriend worries too much.”

Nayeon stacks the pancakes on a single plate, topping them with whipped cream and syrup. Sana wanted her to disagree, for her to say that Mina is not her girlfriend, and that they still haven’t talked about the commitments, the strings, the relationship, even after five or ten dates and a hundred thousand kisses.

_Don’t tell me you’re already dating, that you’re already happy, that you weren’t even slightly affected, that you’re already--_

But that would be selfish, so they both silently left that conversation hanging--Nayeon opening her mouth only to ask if she should put more syrup.

“At least you got decent groceries this time,” she adds. “Last week, these cabinets looked like an all chips corner and your fridge was filled with soju bottles. Honestly, if Mina didn't scold me, I wouldn’t have complained--”

“I know,” Sana plays with the cream. “She reminded me to get some real food.”

Sana loves how quiet Nayeon is, but when she finally talks, she talks too much. Like water in the tub. Unmoving, yet knowing. Sana would learn to hate it soon, entering the stage of denial and discomfort, closed doors and _I can’t do this anymore--_

“Is she here?” Nayeon asks. “Right now?”

A silent beat, then Sana looks around, puffs her cheeks until they hurt, pretending they don’t hurt, until actual tears start forming, reality hitting her ten times harder, a million times harder than it did last Monday, when she was in the tub and there was Momo and there was Sana, and nothing, nothing, nothing else, nothing else but them and the water in the tub and the dry bathroom floor, just the water in the tub and the dry bathroom floor, water that should have overflowed, should have overflowed but didn’t, and the dry bathroom floor, water in the tub, you should have overflowed, overflow, please, on the dry bathroom floor--“Yup.”

Nayeon nods, too quickly for Sana’s liking. It’s irritating. “Okay.”

“In the living room,” she bites one forkful, sniffs, keeps the aching at bay. Next week would be worse, but that's just another complaint. “Laughing.”

“Yeah,” Nayeon accepts. Sana deserves good days. “Okay.”

  
  
  



End file.
